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Does standing room only apply to me anymore? After all, I no longer stand.

Yes, I’m being cheeky but something that happened earlier this week got Dan and I thinking.

Central Michigan University hosted many events to celebrate Martin Luther King Week, highlighted by a keynote performance by Danny Glover  – yep, Lethal Weapon Danny Glover.

He, along with his lifelong friend Felix Justice, presented An Evening with Martin & Langston. This performance intended to “bring audiences inside the worlds of two of the greatest orators of the 20th century: Martin Luther King Jr. and Langston Hughes.”

Sounds pretty interesting, right? It was a free performance with no tickets required. But, again, it was Lethal Weapon Danny Glover! How were Dan and I going to get accessible seats?

Dan knew I wanted to go so he called ahead and they were able to accommodate us. And they weren’t just any accessible seats: They were in the front row!

When we arrived 30 minutes before the performance, there was a line all the way down the hall with people trying to get seats in an already packed Plachta Auditorium. The ushers spotted us, called us forward and showed us to our seats right at the foot of the stage.

I was so excited and was so appreciative that CMU made the performance accessible for me as well as two other people in wheelchairs. We were the front row! For Lethal Weapon Danny Glover!

As Dan and I turned around to see the mob of people lining the walls at the back of the auditorium, I leaned over and whispered to him, “Membership has its privileges.” It’s wrong to say, but I guess great seats are a perk of being disabled.

It was a powerful performance that we both enjoyed. When it was over, Dan leaned over to me and whispered, “Membership does have its privileges, but all things being equal, I would have given anything for you and I to be among those standing at the back of the auditorium for the entire performance because it would mean you didn’t have MS.”

And you know what? I would have too.

Between a wall showcasing every major brand of running shoe in stock and a wall displaying the industry’s best wicking running apparel, the helpful salesman at Runners in Mount Pleasant squats and watches my feet as I walk back and forth on the uncarpeted section of the floor.

His analysis of my gait determines that I’m a neutral, meaning my foot absorbs the shock the way it was designed to, as opposed to landing heel first or landing on the very outside of the foot first. He tells me what type of shoe I need.

He smirks when I ask him to settle an ongoing debate between Jennifer and me about my status of “being a runner.”

Jennifer wholeheartedly professed that I was a runner, citing that I live and die by my Garmin GPS-enabled sports watch results each time I run and that I have respectful finishes in every race I enter. I, in turn, stressed that I wasn’t a runner. I merely was a guy who runs, pointing out that I maintained nowhere near the gazelle-like physique and pace of the people I pictured as true runners.

“You know what the difference is between a jogger and a runner?” he asks.

“An entry form,” he explains with a smile.

Near the finish line of the 8K race at the 2009 Crim

Following his logic, I’ll agree with Jennifer’s claim that I am a runner. But my numb feet always remind me that I am a runner who has MS.

Most races break down their entrants by specific age groups, not by whether or not they have MS. But if they did, I potentially have finished in the top five of this specific category in every race I’ve ever entered. Race forms will never single out runners who have MS, so I’ll continue comparing myself to other runners who likely aren’t living with this chronic disease.

I may never win any of the races I enter, but I always will have a decent showing because I’m there.

Despite my MS.

And with this New Year, on Aug. 28, 2010, for the first time ever I will run the full 10-mile route at the Crim Festival of Races in Flint, Michigan.

To spite my MS.

Happy Holidays and Happy New Year!

Have you enjoyed the last week? Busy celebrating with family and friends, I bet. So are you like me ­­- and I believe most Americans - a person who celebrates with food?

Well my holidays were wonderful, but I’ll be honest with you: I’ve been celebrating since Halloween. Somehow, it’s all been downhill since then.

First it was, “One little piece of candy won’t hurt,” then, “Oh I shouldn’t, but what’s Thanksgiving without at least a sliver of pumpkin pie?” Then to Christmas and two words: cream puffs. My mom’s are delicious. And come to discover, most of the people I’ve been celebrating with are great cooks.

Weight Watchers never had a chance, and thus the question I’m growing tired of: “Are you still doing Weight Watchers?”

First time I heard that, my answer was “Yep! I’m still down 55 pounds.” And I said it with pride. Sure, there was a little voice in the back of my head was saying, “Not for much longer if you don’t watch it.” But it was pretty easy to ignore because after all, I was going to meetings and still being somewhat mindful of a healthy diet.

However, the last time someone posed this question, I couldn’t say much. It was weeks since I had last attended a meeting, no boasting about my weight loss total. Instead I blushed, fidgeted uncomfortably and stammered, “I’m looking forward to starting again in the New Year.”

Well, here it is. And here I am - a place I’ve been before, but I can’t believe I’m here again. I must lose weight! Not just for appearance or clothes fitting properly or even for my health so much.

But it’s for Dan and my caregivers. And for what I still have that my MS hasn’t taken from me: my ability to stand and make transfers, and besides, managing my weight is something I still can control. Sure I find comfort in food but what comfort is food when my caregivers can’t lift me or Dan complains of having a sore back?

Gaining weight is selfish, and that’s where my MS is both a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing because it gives me a very good reason to lose weight. It makes me realize that I function day-to-day with help, help that I want to and need to lose weight for. And it’s a curse because losing weight no longer is a choice I make on my own. The disease is indirectly calling the shots.

Any way you slice it, I am going to lose weight in 2010, for Dan, my caregivers, and most importantly for me. And as much as Dan hates it when I say it, I am so back on the horse!

Anyone want to get on their horse and ride along with me?